


the birth of mordred

by adevilkissedme



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adevilkissedme/pseuds/adevilkissedme
Summary: Morgause's impressions when Mordred is borntw: blood, infidelity
Relationships: Lot/Morgause, Mordred & Morgause, Morgause/Arthur Pendragon
Kudos: 10





	the birth of mordred

**Author's Note:**

> This was made as part of a prompt, originally posted on tumblr. I hope you enjoy!  
> The prompt, suggested by @violetcancerian was "angst, Morgause and her thoughts right after Mordred is born and she holds him for the first time"

Nobody tells you how hard and absolutely raw it is to be a mother. And nobody tells you that it doesn’t get any easier after the first time. If you asked Morgause, she’d tell you each time was more and more terrifying than the previous one. One precious, healthy boy. Then another just as healthy. Three was tempting luck. Four, risking a bad omen. Now, five? Too much. Something surely had to go wrong sometime, and it surely did. At least for her. A string of pain followed her fourth child, almost mirroring the war happening outside the walls of her palace. Morgause was exhausted, she thought her body would break as one miscarriage followed the next. She was tired of it all. She wanted something more than to remain in a perpetual state of pregnancy and sorrow. But this? This was much worse.

Labor had been far too exhausting this time, or perhaps, she was just getting too old for the task. The baby was huge, healthy and even stronger than his brothers had been. Mogause wanted nothing but to faint and finally be able to rest after a day and a half of endless pain. But she needed to see it. The screaming of the child kept her awake. It was like thunder, nothing close to what she had heard any other time –and she knew a great deal about babies. He _demanded_ to be fed, and though Morgause was afraid she would be too weak to hold him, the midwife gave her the baby with confidence. This was not her first delivery, and she knew Morgause was blessed with a strength so great, some considered it manly.

Morgause was horrified, holding this child, eyes wide open, kicking and crying. Unlike her other children, he did not calm instantly as she pulled him closer to her chest. He didn’t lie peacefully, sucking the milk and holding onto life. He was _fighting_ , and she could barely contain him. The worse part was that this child looked absolutely nothing like her, as she had desperately hoped for. He looked exactly like his father. As Morgause gave the baby back to the midwife, unable to feed him, she felt the sudden urge to vomit. Same dark hair, same dark eyes and crooked nose. How? Babies just didn’t resemble their parents, not all bloody and just out of the womb. But he did. He looked just like Arthur in the battlefield, only with a smaller, gentler face.

Morgause notived vaguely that her maids were drying her sweat, some of them murmuring with worry about the fever. _She’s never had a fever like this before_. They were to call the king. They thought she was dying. For a moment, Morgause wanted to laugh. She would not die. Not like this. She would only accept death by the sword. On the other hand, she was terrified of Lot. She had never feared her husband, not even once. True, he was a ruthless warrior, a stern monarch and overall someone far too cunning to be widely liked. But he had always been good to her, even loving. He had never raised his voice –he knew better than that—and he had always granted her wishes and listened to her advice. He was a caring, if somewhat distant, father. She never wanted to marry him, that was true, but who had wanted their husband from the start to begin with? It was also true that they had grown apart from each other in the last few years and that she disapproved of his latest actions but still. Still she feared his reaction. His rejection. She feared the sorrow in his eyes and the silence that would follow when this child grew and what she had done would be too obvious, too devastatingly clear.

Did she regret it though, those nights away from home, living such adventure, with a man she had finally chosen by herself, for herself? Besides, she’d gotten him to sign that treaty, hadn’t she? Morgause had him wrapped around her little finger. He would do anything she asked, always. She liked that kind of power. On the other hand, when she got back home and back to her husband’s bed there was no regret, but calculation. How dared she, now, to feel this way?

What would she do now? How would she explain this? If four healthy children was teasing luck in excess, then surely five of them was simply too much. She couldn’t help but feel this was wrong. All wrong. She just wanted to sleep, and perhaps, she would wake up and everything would make sense. But now, all she saw was red. Red like blood, red like fire, like treason.

Lot entered the room solemnly. It was usually not permitted for men to enter the room so soon. But then again, they all thought she was dying. Including him. He kneeled beside her, and kissed her hand. He said nothing, just smiled uncomfortably. She was too hot to touch. Morgause stared back at him, and smiled too, feeling more at ease, forgetting for a moment how she was lying in her own filth, her own blood, forgetting the crying of that child that simply would not stop screaming. The world was burning, but she suddenly felt quite happy. She again raised her arms, to take the newly born child, and this time, the child simply clung to her chest and drank hungrily. He was hurting her, but she didn’t care anymore, what was a little more pain now?

Outside, a storm was raging. Morgause stared at her child, then at the fireplace, a smile appearing on her lips. No. She would not die this way. She was made of some other, nobler material, something that could not burn. She forgot all about the world, holding onto her new baby boy, which was the only real thing in the world. The only thing she cared about. He had been born with his eyes wide open. _A bad omen_ , just like the storm outside, just like what had happened in Arthur’s court when she had read his palm to find out his destiny. But she was an expert in taming bad omens, wasn’t she? A fighter from birth, a sorceress perhaps. She would calm the beast: that what she knew best how to do. She would worry about the rest tomorrow.

For now, all she cared about was the name in her mouth: _Mordred._


End file.
